


Nebulosa

by ImperialMint



Series: sun kicks the moon off the mountain [marcoace week 2015] [3]
Category: One Piece
Genre: Aliens, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-24
Updated: 2015-06-24
Packaged: 2018-04-06 00:54:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,002
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4201668
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ImperialMint/pseuds/ImperialMint
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Marco moves in with Whitebeard. Marco meets Ace, the alien conspiracist. Marco may or may not have a crush on Ace.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nebulosa

**Author's Note:**

> Written for day 4 of MarcoAce week! Day 3 is a bit late, but it will be going up. Got to keep up the tradition of being a little unorganised, after all!
> 
> Thank you to [lunarshores](http://lunarshores.tumblr.com/) for betaing, and I hope you all enjoy!

Setting the last of his empty boxes down, Marco rubbed his forehead with the back of his hand. He nodded, scanning the room, before heading downstairs.

“I’m all done I think,” Marco said, and he could hear the click of the kettle. Tea time, a good plan.

“I made some sandwiches earlier,” Whitebeard said, and Marco nodded, giving him a pointed look when he began getting mugs down for the tea. “I’m allowed to get these out, they didn’t say anything about this,” he defended himself, and Marco nodded to the kitchen table.

“Doctor and nurses’ orders,” Marco said firmly. “And besides, that’s the reason I’m here. You can make as much tea as you like when I’m at the university, but when I’m here, I’m to look after you.”

Whitebeard grumbled, crossing his arms over his chest. He’d been remarkably childish since his heart attack, a mark of how much he hated having to depend on others and be forced into compliance over tiny things (like making tea). Marco didn’t blame him though, Whitebeard had always been so independent and capable. It had shaken them all when Marco had received the call from the hospital.

“And they kept calling me Mr Newgate,” Whitebeard grumbled, and Marco laughed softly. It wasn’t that Whitebeard hated his name, but he was hardly ever called Edward Newgate anymore. The name served as a reminder that the doctors and nurses didn’t know him one bit, and Whitebeard preferred comfort and familiarity in the people he kept company with.

“Well if you let me do my job, you won’t need to go back and listen to them call you that,” Marco said simply, and Whitebeard nodded in consideration.

Marco hadn’t been the only one to volunteer to move in, but his move had made the most sense. He was closer to where he worked, the university, and only taught three days out of five. And, as an added benefit, Marco’s lease had almost been up, so he would have had to move anyway.

Still, moving back in with his father was a little strange, and it had been a long while since they’d lived together. Things were fitting into place quickly, though, and Marco felt as if he’d made a smart decision. He sighed, setting the tea on the table and fetching the sandwiches from the breadbin.

“What’s the time?” Whitebeard said a little while later, and Marco looked up from the paper he’d been scanning.

“Just gone ten,” Marco replied, and a grin spread across Whitebeard’s face. He pushed his mug to the side and whistled, the clatter of dog claws sounding a moment later as Stefan joined them.

“You’re coming,” Whitebeard said to Marco, no wiggle room for Marco in his voice. Not that he minded, he enjoyed taking Stefan for walks, just Whitebeard was being a little too secretive. “Every Sunday he’s out there, putting on a show.”

Things only seemed to get more and more mysterious. They looped the cul-de-sac once, and Marco noticed more and more elderly people coming out into their front gardens, all smiles and cheer. A lot of them began walking towards their end of the close, and even Stefan seemed to get a bit of his youth back, straining on the lead Marco held.

“What’s going on?” Marco asked, bemused. He’d never seen the close so active before, the residents all being at least sixty five years old, and they all seemed to be very determined to reach one of the houses near the very end of the close, tucked away in the corner.

It wasn’t long before Marco discovered why.

“I did it!” a voice shouted, and the door to the house opened. A young man came running out and- Marco frowned. Was that a tin foil hat on his head?

“Tsuru, you have to have a look this time. Tell me this isn’t the ancient language of some alien tribe, just tell me,” the man said, grinning widely as he passed some sort of stone object to one of the elderly women closest to his garden gate. She took the object, peering at it closely, shaking her head with a smile.

“I think I’ve deciphered it,” the man pressed on in earnest, and he pulled a wad of paper from where he’d tucked it into his shorts. “I think they’re trying to communicate a date they will visit our planet,” he continued, and the few people around them murmured. A quick glance around the close showed that everyone was paying attention, even though they were pretending not to.

Baffled by it all, Marco watched the man closely as he weaved a story of long lost ancestors coming to pick him up, and the evil aliens that were trying to capture him. His hands moved constantly, eyes shifting from one person to the next and back again all in seconds, and Marco wondered if this man was more than a little bit mad.

“And really, if they weren’t going to cut me open for their research I’d happily travel into space with them!” the man beamed again, and looked around, raising an eyebrow when he met Marco’s eyes. He half-shrugged, turning around to run back to his house. He was back a moment later, clutching handfuls of notes, which he brought over to Whitebeard and passed some to him.

“I heard the aliens attacked you,” he said, and his voice was deadly serious. Marco felt anger, burning hot and white, flow through him, and he was about to cut into this man’s delusions when Whitebeard laughed, his voice booming through the close.

“That they did,” he said agreeably, and Marco couldn’t quite believe it. Whitebeard had never been one to buy into ridiculous alien conspiracy theories like this, so why was he playing along with this man? “But it’ll take more than one measly rogue alien to take me down.” He thumped his chest, a move that the man mirrored, and then the man was off again, onto someone else and passing them a few papers.

Whitebeard smiled down at Marco, a knowing look in his eyes, as if there was something Marco was missing. Stefan tugs on the lead, and it was then that Marco noticed the little crowd (though crowd might be the wrong word, it’s really only six people, including Marco and Whitebeard) dispersing merrily back to their homes. Neighbours meet up and began to talk, assumingly about the slightly deranged man who lived at the end of the close.

When they were back inside, Whitebeard handed Marco one of the papers. A strange script covered the page, with annotations here and there in red pen, and Marco realised this was the language the man was trying to uncover.

“What is this?” Marco asked, shaking his head. Whitebeard grinned at him.

“Ace believes in aliens,” he offered simply, and Marco suddenly understood. Whitebeard wasn’t going to tell him anything he knew so long as Marco was determined to help him. It was ridiculously unfair – Marco had to help him in order for him to get better after all – but if the old man wanted a bit of fun, then so be it. He’d be able to put up with the strange alien man.

“Right,” Marco said, heading to the kitchen and grabbing his journal, intent on finishing reading the paper he’s started before this entire alien thing. Feeding habits of neotropical birds should be enough of a distraction, he thought, and he was right.

In fact, Marco didn’t think of the alien man again until Wednesday. He was off from work, though he had a few assignments to grade, and decided to take Stefan on a walk to the shop. They’d run out of milk, and Whitebeard was sleeping still.

“Come on them old timer,” Marco said, and Stefan yawned as Marco clipped his lead on.

There was an alley on the way to the shop that cut through the close, and Marco decided to use it, rather than heading the longer way around. The alley often smelled of piss, but Marco would take the unsavouriness, hoping Whitebeard didn’t wake up while he was gone. The first few weeks after surgery were the ones to be the most careful about, the nurses had warned, and Whitebeard had already caused his stitches to bleed a tiny bit when he’d been at work the previous day.

He left Stefan outside and managed to buy milk and some biscuits before heading back. They walked slowly, and were halfway down the alley before Stefan pulled on the lead, wanting to greet someone who had just stepped into the narrow passage.

“Stefan!” a warm voice called, and Marco froze, recognising the alien man.

“Hello, not-Whitebeard!” alien man said, and Marco frowned. The man looked taken aback for a moment, before he recovered himself, smiling a little awkwardly.

“I’m Ace,” he said, offering a hand. He was still wearing the ridiculous tin foil hat and flushed a little when he noticed Marco staring at it. He dropped his hand when he realised Marco wasn’t going to shake it.

“Marco,” Marco replied, and his voice was a little sterner than he meant. Oh well, Ace was hardly a regular member of society, he probably had no idea how to react. Marco felt unease settle in his gut, and he sighed, offering his hand and a small smile.

“Sorry,” he said, meaning it. Even if Ace was a little unhinged, he seemed harmless enough, and there was no need for Marco to be absolutely horrible to him. “Work stress is catching up to me,” he offered as an excuse, and Ace nodded sympathetically, taking Marco’s hand. His palm was warm and soft, and Marco smiled a little.

“Tell me about it,” Ace said, and looked around them with a round swoop. “Just between you and me, I know what that feels like.” He laughed, as if making a joke, and Marco forced his own laugh out. He had no idea what was going on, but Ace wasn’t all that bad really. His good mood was infectious, and he seemed nice, really. Maybe he did actually have a proper job and the alien thing was a little bit of… excitement on the side.

“It’s a tough job researching space,” Ace proclaimed, and Marco fought the urge to groan, “but someone has to do it.”

So no proper job then, Marco thought. Still, he was enthusiastic and passionate about something.

“Our planet is defenceless without you,” Marco said, unable to hide his smile, and Ace nodded, laughing, a strange look in his eyes that Marco couldn’t pin.

“Maybe I can count on a new recruit,” Ace said, and he patted Marco’s arm gently. Before Marco could reply, he was walking off, perhaps heading to the shops, his alien-patterned flip flops echoing down the alley.

Shaking his head at Ace wearing flip flops when it was hardly the right weather, Marco took Stefan, the milk and biscuits home, feeling lighter. He didn’t say anything when Whitebeard got up a little after they arrived back, waiting until lunch to discuss the strange person that was Ace.

“Does the alien man live alone?” he asked casually, helping himself to more sandwiches. Whitebeard shot him a look, and Marco’s shoulders slumped a little. No matter how old they were, Whitebeard could shoot him one look and make him feel like a naughty child again. “Ace, I mean,” he added, and Whitebeard nodded.

“Sometimes his brothers come over, but they live quite far away now. I think he moved here for his job and couldn’t find anywhere else to stay.” Whitebeard bit into his ham sandwich, looking at Marco with raised eyebrow.

“He has a job?” Marco said, the words slipping free before he could stop them. He shook his head. “That was rude of me,” he amended, setting his sandwich down and tapping the wooden table.

“I don’t understand him,” Marco admitted, and Whitebeard nodded slowly.

“Not many people do,” he offered, and then decided he wanted to watch a rerun of an old antiques programme. Marco was left with his journal and thoughts of Ace, and this time not even neotropical birds were enough to get his mind off of the strange alien-obsessed Ace.

**.**

Marco would admit he’d hardly been acting like an adult when it came to Ace, and he made a decision on the Friday to do something about that. Whether he liked it or not, Ace was his neighbour now, and as Marco was the closest in age by far, he felt he should reach out to Ace, perhaps try and… help him if he needed it.

And Marco was curious. There was something about Ace he couldn’t pin, something Whitebeard grew tight-lipped and smirked about. Alien obsessed as he might be, Marco thought that he could get to see Ace as a good friend.

Heading over to the little house in the corner of the close, Marco opened the garden gate and looked at a handful of alien statues that popped out of the ground. Some were hidden in the grass, others peeking out of bushes closer to the house, and Marco thought Ace’s obsession with aliens was actually rather adorable.

He knocked on the door and waited, and then knocked again and waited. He was on his fifth knock when he realised that Ace wasn’t in, and he paused from where he’d been about to knock again. Had he found a strange lead on a new alien? Was Ace chasing down information he’d found on the alien language he was supposedly translating? Or was he just out at the shops, no aliens involved at all?

Whatever it was, Marco saw no point of standing here now that he knew Ace wasn’t in, and he headed back to his house, ignoring the knowing look on Whitebeard’s face.

“I knew you’d take to him,” Whitebeard offered, and Marco can’t believe how much he feels like a teenager all over again, stomping to the kitchen after being rejected by his first crush. He didn’t even like Ace like that.

Marco blinked. Okay, so maybe he thought Ace was attractive and quite sweet with his alien fixation, but he didn’t know Ace. He’d only met him a few days ago; it was nothing like Marco’s first crush. Except for the knowing look Whitebeard was giving him and the way Marco was pacing the kitchen.

“Stop it,” he said, something he hadn’t been able to when he was younger. Whitebeard only laughed, turning back to watch some animal documentary, and Marco joined him with tea, one eye on the telly and the rest of him thinking where Ace could be.

**.**

Marco was enjoying the sun shining through his window when there was a heavy thump on the door. Whitebeard peeked in a moment later, and Marco looked up from where he was lying on the bed.

“You have five minutes to get ready for the show,” Whitebeard said simply, and Marco’s brain tried to think of what he meant. He was wondering if Whitebeard had booked them a theatre performance when he remembered what he’d called Ace’s… thing last week.

“Right,” Marco muttered, slipping into comfy trousers and an old, threadbare t-shirt. He was pretty sure you could see the block of his tattoo through the old cotton, but he didn’t care too much. Maybe he’d be a bit of excitement for the elderly. “Aliens,” Marco added, heading to the bathroom to brush his teeth.

Once again, after a loop around the close, Marco found himself with a handful of elderly neighbours, watching as Ace claimed to have solved another part of the puzzle and, with a spectacular announcement, stated he’d made contact with outside life. “Aliens”, he stage-whispered, shooting a wink in Marco’s direction that left Marco a little dry in the mouth and his heart pounding.

So maybe Marco had a bit of a crush then.

“Here’s this week’s translations,” Ace said as he made his rounds, giving crumpled paper to Whitebeard in the same manner as the week before. This time, though, he also held out a sheet of paper to Marco.

“It’s all very interesting to read,” Ace said, leaning in a little too close to Marco. Marco could see the excitement in his eyes, the way his smile lit up his entire face, and he had to stop himself leaning forward to give Ace a kiss. “I think you’d like the third line,” he commented, and then he was off again, passing papers and discussing measuring an old man up for the tin foil hat.

Marco shook his head and looked down at the paper. The alien letters Ace was supposedly translating looked more like squiggles, and really, they could mean anything. Marco wasn’t even sure there were two squiggles the same, but Ace had apparently managed to decipher a few lines.

It wasn’t an actual translation that made up the third line. In fact, there was a gap in the alien text altogether, and, with a surprisingly neat hand, Ace had written him a message. A quick glance to Whitebeard’s page as they headed back home proved to Marco that this was a message only for him, and he scanned it quickly.

I have Wednesdays free if you wanted to come round for lunch? the message said, along with a mobile phone number and a doodle of a waving alien. Marco held back a laugh, and ignored Whitebeard when he asked if the boyfriend had asked Marco on a date.

It wasn’t going to be a date. It was just lunch at a friend’s house, no matter if Marco wouldn’t mind it being a date at all. 

“So does he do that every Sunday?” Marco asked as they got in. Stefan leapt onto his bed and seemed to be asleep in the blink of an eye, snores filling the room as Marco moved to make them a drink.

“Unless he’s unable to yes,” Whitebeard said, and there was a hint of mischief in his voice.

“He really loves those theories,” Marco said quietly, and Whitebeard snorted. Marco didn’t comment, but he made sure to ‘forget’ Whitebeard’s sugar from his tea.

They spent their Sunday lazily, relaxing around the house. Marco texted Ace, adding alien emojis to the end of every text, and he received them back, an entire army of them in fact. Whitebeard’s smug look faded to a fond one every time he caught Marco checking his phone for Ace’s reply, and Marco decided to retire early for the night.

Monday was a disaster, truth be told. Marco was almost late due to traffic, stomped through three lectures and then a one-on-one meeting session, though it all focusing on having some time to breathe over lunch. When he went to his usual staffroom, however, it was packed to the brim, and Marco promptly turned around and left, not wanting to deal with whatever nonsense was taking place.

“Please let me join you,” someone whispered against his open door about halfway through the lunch hour, and Marco looked up from his keyboard, smiling as Thatch looked at him miserably.

“The staffroom is packed,” he complained, and Marco nodded to him to sit down. He took the comfy chair the students usually avoided, not wanting to spend too much time with Professor Marco.

“Did you hear they’re redoing the physics staffroom?” Thatch says, digging into his pasta salad with joy. “Apparently our room’s the closest. Well there’s the chemistry department, but no one in their right mind would actually eat up there.”

Marco nodded, taking one of Thatch’s tomatoes. No one would eat in the chemistry department, not even the more foolish of students. It always seemed to smell of sulphur and other chemicals, no matter what anyone did to try and get rid of the smell. The chemistry staff split between the other sciences, but if the physics department had been displaced as well then they were definitely stretched thin, particularly if this was the first day.

“I think most people are there just to get a look at that astro-bio-whatsit,” Thatch commented wisely, and Marco nodded.

“Remember all that controversy about where to put him,” he muttered, remembering the fuss administration had kicked up. Supposedly this astrobiologist was one of the most promising of his generation, had even written a healthy number of books and papers despite being younger than most. Administration couldn’t decide whether to send him to the life sciences or place him with the other space people, and Marco had spent hours as department head, wondering if he’d need to reshuffle everyone just to find an office in his section of the building.

Luckily the poor sod had been shipped off to the physics side of things, and Marco had been free of the hassle. Now, it seemed he was back and attracting a lot of attention. Probably people who wanted to get a glimpse of whom the students had nicknamed ‘the hottest guy to come of out physics since… well, ever’.

Somehow, Marco managed to avoid needing to go to the staffroom until late on Tuesday. He needed to check his pigeon hole before he went home, and Marco thought he might be lucky to find the room empty. He was sort of in luck – only a few people were milling about, but they wanted to talk to him as soon as he entered, wanted to know what he thought of The Astrobiologist (Marco could hear the capital letters in their charmed tones), and wanted to know if he was ever going to pay them a visit down here.

Marco smiled, though it was a little forced.

“I’ve been a bit busy,” he lied, and his colleagues hummed in sympathy.

He made his way to the pigeon holes, picking up his letters, and was about to leave when he was accosted once again.

“Marco! I wanted your opinion on something, do you have a moment?” The woman looked at him brightly, and Marco shook his head. She held a thick book, a galaxy photograph the cover, with a title and thick surname stamped in gold text. It was, Marco recognised, the astrobiologist’s most recent publication, and the woman wanted to know what he thought about the evidence for alien life. It wasn’t his area of expertise-- Marco focused on the life on earth-- but he waded into an alien discussion, feeling a little bad for wanting the woman to be Ace instead of who she actually was.

Dinner was waiting for him, and for once, Marco couldn’t find it in himself to berate Whitebeard for cooking.

“Thanks,” he said, and Whitebeard grinned, launching into a tale of what he’d overheard at the shop. Apparently, according to the old lady living next door to Ace, he’d finally cracked an important part of the message and had been running about his back garden in joy.

“Really,” Marco commented, shaking his head with a smile. “At least he’s happy,” he said, and Whitebeard grinned.

“No doubt he’ll loop you into his plans tomorrow,” he commented, and Marco shrugged, trying not to look too fussed. Inside, of course, his stomach churned in excitement at the prospect, but he’d never admit that to Whitebeard.

The evening was spent answering emails and trying to hunt down something for a paper Marco was halfway through writing. Whitebeard muttered along to the TV, shaking his head every now and then, and Stefan came to sit by Marco’s feet. It felt good, and Marco had never realised before how lonely he’d been living alone.

Heading over to Ace’s the next day, Marco couldn’t help but keep his smile off of his face. A few of the neighbours waved, and when they found out he was heading to Ace’s, they asked Marco to get all the details on the latest alien escapades. Some had a twinkle in their eye, but there were a few more who genuinely seemed to believe in Ace and his aliens.

Marco was about to knock on the door when it opened, and Ace grinned at him. He was wearing alien-printed shorts and a plain shirt, and he beckoned Marco in.

The inside wasn’t quite what Marco had been expecting. He’d been expecting papers everywhere, posters with notes and conspiracy theories dotted over the walls, even more alien paraphernalia. Ace’s home was, well, rather normal. Aside from books scattered here and there (their home looked to be one of the walls in the lounge, Marco noted as they went to sit on the sofa), there really wasn’t anything alien about.

“So,” Marco began, Ace ducking into the kitchen to grab some tea. “Not that many aliens?”

He could hear Ace laugh and looked at the coffee table. There were pages of information on aliens here, but it was far more complex than anything Ace had shouted about on his lawn. In fact, these papers were more academic than anything, and Marco couldn’t help but pick one up. Doing so revealed something even more interesting, and Marco reached for the large book with a galaxy image and gold writing.

He was flicking through the pages, noting that it was a fairly worn out copy, when Ace returned, sweeping the papers up and setting the tea down.

“I was talking about this with a colleague of mine,” Marco said, and Ace sat down next to him, peering over his shoulder. “She seems to be the only one who isn’t absolutely smitten with the author.”

Marco closed the book with a thump, looking at Ace. They’d planned to order food and watch crappy films all afternoon, but before he can launch into a discussion about what food they’d have, Marco noticed the slight colour to Ace’s cheeks.

“Yeah, I er-” he says, rubbing the back of his head. “I get that a lot. First of all it was because I’m young, then it was because of the ridiculous name those students gave me.” Ace rolled his eyes with a little laugh, and Marco’s eyebrows shot up.

He glanced down at the book, flipping the front page open. What had been Portgas A. now was announced cheerfully as Portgas Ace. Marco swallowed, turning to Ace, who now looked incredibly curious.

“You’re the astrobiologist,” Marco said, and even he thought he sounded like an idiot.

Thankfully, Ace just gave him a little smile. “I thought you knew,” he said, and Marco shook his head dumbly. “Well, I thought Whitebeard might have told you when he said about the fake alien thing. They kind of go hand in hand really, so I just assumed.”

Marco’s lips thinned as he pressed them together, eyes narrowing.

“Fake alien thing?” he said. In for a penny in for a pound he supposed, Ace probably thought he was a complete idiot now anyway, so he might as well keep it up.

“Yeah,” Ace said, smiling merrily. “I mean no one really believes in my whole alien conspiracy act, it’s just a way to entertain the elderly, give some of them a reason to keep on chugging along and get a bit of fun out of it.”

Ace paused, tilting his head to the side, seemingly unaware that Marco’s entire view of him had just been completely shattered.

“I mean a few of them believe it, but that adds to the fun really. It’s not like I don’t love aliens, but I don’t exactly believe in any of the ridiculous conspiracies. It’s all just a bit of fun.” He looked at Marco then, and something in his face froze.

“You thought I was being serious,” Ace said, and Marco buried his face in his hands. Laughter echoed through the house as Ace threw his head back, and he draped an arm around Marco when he’d finally calmed.

“Did you really think I was a strange alien man?” he said, and Marco looked at him just in time to see Ace wiping tears away from his eyes. “That is brilliant Marco, absolutely brilliant!” he laughed again, and Marco sighed, giving a small laugh himself.

“Oyaji’s been having fun with this,” Marco said, the pieces finally slipping into place. Whitebeard calling Ace’s alien thing a show, the way he looked sometimes about it all, smug that Marco hadn’t figured it out, and it was the perfect way to get back at Marco. It was harmless, kept him entertained, and Marco found that he really didn’t mind.

“I really thought he would have told you,” Ace offered, arm still around Marco’s shoulders. Marco leant into him, smiling.

“He’s in a mood because he’s not allowed to do anything strenuous at the moment. So instead of doing whatever he does, he’s been having a laugh with me,” Marco said, but there was no malice or ill-intent in his tone. He found it hilarious, truth be told, and said as much to Ace.

It was a little later that they sat quietly, pressed against each other and with pizza remnants scattered across the table and the film credits rolled across the TV.

“I was wondering,” Ace said, and Marco could feel the vibration of his voice through his chest. Somehow he’d ended up half-lying on Ace, and really Marco was too comfortable to think it was anything but a great idea. “If you wanted to have lunch with me tomorrow.”

Marco took Ace’s hand and pressed a kiss to it before he could lose his nerve.

“I’d really like that,” he said, and Ace smiled, tilting his head to the side with a fond look in his eyes.

“The human has accepted,” he said in a ridiculous, robotic-sort of voice that was clearly supposed to imitate an alien, and Marco laughed, pulling Ace close. It was simply just a matter of time now before he was raving about the lawn alongside Ace. He was that smitten with him, and Marco really couldn’t think of any downsides to that.


End file.
